


For Something Completely Pointless

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Communication Failure, Denial, Dom/sub Undertones, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Power Dynamics, post-sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 22:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8866624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: “I am going to miss you.”
Robb keeps saying that, and Theon's mother always said, the more times you say something, the less you believe it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the asoiaf kink meme prompt: "Robb/Theon, _when the only viable move is not to move._ "

“I'm going to miss you,” Robb mutters into Theon's sweat-soaked skin as they curl around each other in the dark tent, knowing they're staying too long, knowing they're risking too much. But Theon can't bring himself to move, not now, not with the King in the North clinging to him like a child clings to his teddy bear. Robb might be a little drunk. Theon's not quite sure what to do, so he does what comes naturally – he laughs.

“You're going to miss me sucking you off, you mean.”

He can still taste Robb's seed in the back of his mouth, and a dull ache of shame and arousal has settled in his spine and will not go away. Robb looks up at him and pouts. “No! Well, alright, yes, but – not just that.” A pause. “I'm going to miss _you_.”

Theon's not really comfortable with this. He looks away. “You decided to send me away,” he mutters.

“It was your idea.”

That it was. Theon doesn't say anything, just does his best to relax into the uncomfortable straw bed as Robb runs his fingers along Theon's hipbone – gingerly, almost fearfully. That makes Theon squirm. What is Robb being so shy for? Surely he knows Theon would let him do anything?

“I – I'm scared,” Robb blurts out, and Theon gives him a puzzled look. He must be really drunk. “I don't know what I'm going to do without you.”

Theon's heart aches at the sound of those words. _Don't tell me things like that. I might start believing them._ “It's probably a good thing I'm going then,” he says, and pretends he doesn't notice how hurt Robb looks. “After all, what if I get myself killed fighting for you? You should get used to me not being there.”

“Don't say things like that.” Robb sounds like he might cry. Fuck, how much has he had?

Theon shrugs. “Fine, but that won't make it any less likely to happen,” he says. “It's not like wishing upon a star, Robb.”

“Gods, you're such a–” Theon feels a strange mix of pride and guilt at the anger he hears flooding Robb's voice. He sounds like himself again, and not the stern cold king whose only emotions are the ones he can use in the war effort. “Nevermind. Forget it. Get some sleep, Greyjoy.”

There's His Grace, and then it's just guilt – and fear. He smiles. “I thought you didn't like me sleeping in your bed?” Robb flinches, and Theon knows 'like' was the wrong word. Robb wants him here, Theon knows he does – but he's ashamed of it. Theon doesn't take it personally (or he tries not to), because it's not him Robb's ashamed of, not really. He's ashamed he wants the comfort, the distraction, no matter how much it would fuck things up if anyone found out – he's ashamed he's willing to risk his whole campaign for something so pointless.

Back at Winterfell, Robb (usually) let him take control – begged him for it, even. But now, it's Robb who issues orders, and Theon who obeys, as if that makes the whole thing more kingly.

“If you want me to sleep and stop bothering you, you'll have to kick me out first,” Theon teases, knowing he's dancing a fine line and not caring to stop. “That might be easier if you didn't cuddle me like a stuffed toy.”

Robb lets go and moves away. Shit. That's not what Theon wanted. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I know I shouldn't – sorry.”

_Know you shouldn't what?_ Theon doesn't ask, he just says “Wha – no, Robb, it's fine, I was just teasing – fuck.” When did this all get so hard? Back at Winterfell, it wasn't this hard – they wouldn't have thought twice about spending the night cuddled up together. They didn't even have to hide it, they could just say it was for warmth.

_Back when we were equals. Back before it was the King in the North I was fucking._

Robb stares up at the ceiling – do tents have ceilings? – for a long moment, even though Theon knows it's too dark to see anything up there. “I really am going to miss you,” he murmurs, and Theon's not sure what to say.

He's shocked out of thinking about it by Robb suddenly rolling on top of him, and then he can only think about getting the wind knocked out of him – this war's put a lot of muscle on Robb, he's gotten heavy. Still, it seems the wrong moment to complain. Once he gets his breath back, Robb is staring into his eyes with an almost wild look. Fuck, he looks good like that – and he looks sort of scary.

“Are you going to miss me?”

_What?_ Theon blinks, not understanding the question. “Of course.” Doesn't Robb know that? Isn't it obvious? You'd think, after everything Theon has let Robb do to him, everything he has let Robb ask of him (everything he has asked – begged – Robb to do him), Robb would fucking know that yes, Theon is going to miss him. Why else would he let him do it all?

Robb nods along, frowning. “Of course you will.” A pause, and then a snort. “You'll miss my cock up your arse, at least.”

Theon winces. “Robb–” He hates this. He hates actually having to think about the things he lets Robb do to him. He hates imagining his father's face if he knew what a pathetic, deviant slut his son is for Lord Stark – not the same Lord Stark, but still.

(But Robb isn't Lord Stark, is he? He's _the King in the North_.)

“What? Won't you?” Robb asks, and Theon looks away. “Don't you like me bending you in half and fucking you like a whore?”

Theon _does_ , that's the thing. If he could only convince himself he only does it for Robb's sake, it wouldn't be so hard. “Well you're hardly one to judge,” he mutters.

A pause as Robb's body stiffens above him. Theon doesn't know why it makes him afraid – he knows Robb would never hurt him (unless Theon asked him to). “You're right,” he says, and Theon looks up, hoping to find some satisfaction in the look of guilt on Robb's face. Instead, it just makes him feel guilty for making Robb feel that guilty, even though he's (almost) sure Robb was the one at fault here. “Sorry, I shouldn't have – sorry.”

Then he rolls off again, laying back by Theon's side. It doesn't make it as easy to breathe as you'd expect.

“I am going to miss you.” He keeps saying that, and Theon's mother always said (or he thinks she always said), the more times you say something, the less you believe it. But Theon will miss Robb – he'll miss him when he leaves for Pyke tomorrow and he'll miss him decades from now, when he's Lord of the Iron Islands and Robb's Lord of – no, Robb's a fucking _king_ – and they see each other twice a year at best. But this – this lust, this need, this infatuation (Theon will never name it for what it is) – that will pass. Because it has to. Theon can't imagine that this is who he is, for the rest of his life, he'll be the King in the North's whore. This is just a squire's crush, born of proximity more than anything, and years from now he and Robb will look back at all they did together and laugh. Theon won't feel that ache he feels right now when he thinks about Robb going back north, marrying one of Walder Frey's hideous brats and pumping out a dozen kids to pass his crown onto for the rest of his life. Because he can't.

“I know,” he says as he curls around Robb's back, gingerly – fearfully – pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. “Do you want me to sleep here?”

Because fuck it, if it's their last night together, it's as good a time to take a risk as ever (for something completely pointless). “Yes,” Robb says, “more than anything.” Theon almost smiles. But then Robb sighs, and he must be sobering up. “But you shouldn't. It's not worth the risk.”

Theon knows Robb's right, and so he tries not to let it hurt. “Very well, Your Grace,” he smirks, pressing a kiss to Robb's cheek to assure him he's not mad. When he gets out of bed, he expects to shiver at the touch of the night air – but he doesn't; they're not in Winterfell anymore, and the Riverlands are comparatively warm at night.

Robb stares as Theon gets up, repressing a giggle as he struggles to get dressed in the dark. Theon huffs a little, but he manages it, and just before he goes he turns to face Robb once more – even if he can barely see him in the dark.

He tries to make out an expression, but fails. “I'll come see you in the morning,” Robb says.

Theon smiles, although he knows Robb can't see it. He wants to go kiss the boy goodnight before he leaves. But he doesn't.


End file.
